Safe
by kodiakkemaxx
Summary: "Lucifer," her voice was eager and soft. "You're here." Was she undercover? Would she get angry at him if he blew it again by calling her by her rank, or even her name? She was here, and so happy to see him. Obviously something was very, very wrong. A/N: Takes place post x104. Complete, such as it is. M for references only, no scenes: trigger warning, for those that need them.
1. Chapter 1

She started to fantasize about killing Dan about ten minutes after she sat down. This wasn't unusual; they were, after all, separated. Back when they were still living together, trying to figure out their problems, she'd counted at least seventy-three ways before she'd gotten tired … of counting.

He didn't have the decency to be within punching distance, either. He was somewhere in the background, running surveillance.

"I don't usually do this," she admitted to the guy sitting next to her at the bar. There. That should cover up some awkwardness on her part.

"You don't look like you need to."

She shrugged, staring at her barely-touched drink. "Thanks. I married young. Just recently separated."

He flashed a grin at her. "Not divorced?"

"Not yet."

"You'll do fine." He was turning on the flattery now, just a bit. "Finish that drink, you'll feel better."

"Yeah," she grinned back, but that was just so her lips stayed sealed, so she wouldn't scream in frustration. She wasn't Vice. She didn't do undercover jobs. She had her own job, and she should be doing it now. Her caseload wasn't heavy at the moment, but every file represented a dead person, a family who needed closure. She could have been home in pjs, researching notes, watching Trixie and checking homework. Instead she was in downtown LA in an overcrowded, overrated bar, sitting next to one of their suspects, trying to get him to pick her up.

"You come down here before?"

Time to rally. "Not until recently. You know…. I just needed to get … out." She paused, sipped. "How about you? You a regular?"

"I haven't seen you around here."

"Yeah, I'm just starting to get out." Another sip. "Of my shell."

"Here's to new starts." He raised his glass to her, and she obediently raised hers, clinked it against his. They took matching swigs, and he turned more closely to her. "Where else have you been?"

Where the hell was she again? Dan had dropped her off, and she was getting the debrief on the way down, not tracking their location. But one familiar thing flashed by just before they parked. "Um, that club with the piano. Lux."

"Oh, that's top of the line. That's the kind of place you work up to."

"I guess I've always done things in the wrong order." Smile, sparkle. "And what about you? What's your story?" Sucker him in so she could finish this and go home to those pjs, release the babysitter back to the wild. Damn Dan. At least he was paying. For everything.

He'd asked her when he came to pick up Trixie for school. "Please, Chloe. I need you."

If only he'd said that a year ago. "I'm homicide," she reminded him. Again. For the second time in, what was it, four weeks? "And you might want to get here on time if you're going to ask for favours." At least she was just trying to hustle two of them out of the house. Not three. Thank god. _And he'd say something cutting about that._ She couldn't let herself smile; Dan would think she was smiling at him.

Lucifer hadn't tried anything in two weeks, which made her suspicious. And Dan was here, asking for her assistance for another department. Gah, men.

"Chloe, I wouldn't be asking if it wasn't urgent."

"Why me?"

"All the women in Vice already have already been made in that area of town."

"All of them?"

"There's only two of them. And bartenders talk. Everyone talks."

"But not to the police."

Dan shook his head. "No one ever sees a damn thing. Six women drugged, sexually assaulted, robbed, left naked in the street. And no one sees anything suspicious until they show up in the morning, different parts of town." He took a deep breath, checked to make sure they could still hear Trixie in the bathroom, the water running as she brushed her teeth. "It's escalating, Chloe."

"How fast?"

"We had one a month for two months, then last month there were two, once every two weeks. This month, it's been every weekend." They listened, again, for Trixie, but he dropped his voice anyway. "The last two were cut up."

"He's experimenting."

"Them."

"What? There's more than one?"

"From the traces…. Yeah. At least two. Maybe more."

She shuddered. "The media hasn't said anything."

"Yet. But we have to, if they strike again. We need to warn people. But we have a suspect. We're going to be watching him tonight, because if the pattern sticks, they're going to be out looking. But Chloe, if we don't have someone on the inside…."

And so here she was on a Friday night, trying to glitter and glow at a second-string frat boy hiding behind nerd frames, hoping he made a move on her, proved himself to be one of their guys. So some other woman wouldn't have to find them on her own.


	2. Chapter 2

"Darling, I'm so sorry, but this isn't working." Lucifer stopped thrusting and sat back on his heels.

"Excuse me?" The blonde blinked up at him through sweat-smeared makeup, strands of hair clinging to her face. Her hands rattled above her head, cuffed to the bedposts as she writhed. "It seemed … okay to me."

Yes. Just _okay_. That was the problem.

Her breasts heaved with each breath, and she arched towards him to offer herself up in his silence, but he looked at her dispassionately, wondering what it was that didn't fit.

Other than the fact that it wasn't Chloe Decker herself handcuffed to his bed.

But since she was still resisting him, one had to make do. This woman was the closest he could come: similar height, build, length of hair. She had walked into Lux last night, and perhaps it was the red dress she'd worn, but he'd thought, for a moment, that she was his detective.

Just for a moment, but he hoped that would be enough. Or that he could find it here, in his bedroom, in what was already roleplaying. She could roleplay someone else, and he could get – no, he could _take_ – back his control. Just like the good doctor said.

It irritated him that he spent a little too much time wondering how to describe the difference in their hair colour, and that the line of the jaw was absolutely not the same, not from any angle. Downright distracting, in fact.

"Dear, I say this for the first, and hopefully last, time in a very long life. It's not you, it's me. Which is not something I care to have you repeat. To anyone. So let's see how I can make this all better …. Ah, I know. You handcuff me." Of course. Chloe would never let him handcuff her. Well, not the first time. But she'd gotten those bracelets on him the second time they'd met. He smiled. "Don't be afraid to be a little rough. I've been a bad, bad devil."

Rough was the wrong word. He knew as soon as the woman started touching him; she was thinking S&M play, not dominance. She twisted the cuffs, tried to lever his elbows, pinch his nipples. He ignored the sensations for a bit, hoping her fumbling would settle into a routine, but her movements kept distracting him out of his fantasy. He and Chloe by the car, where she could push him against the door, his hands bound – willingly, of course, but for her he would stay in them, like a very good devil – and she would look up at with those cool eyes and lips, her mouth would open—

 _Twist_ , and he was yanked back into this moment, his hard-on softening with a voice that was higher, softer than he wanted. "I bet you like _this_ , right?"

He reminded himself that he didn't always have to tell the truth. Nothing would be gained by letting this poor woman know she wouldn't give even the newest, most inexperienced demon with a serious case of a conscience a run for their money. Should he point her towards a few of his toys? He glanced at the ornate clock on the wall. He'd allowed himself a few hours to indulge, to see if he could work this out of his system, but this was useless. This woman didn't look, smell or feel like what he wanted, and it was ironic for him to sit here and let this poor woman flail around helplessly when even he didn't know how Chloe truly felt like in bed. Not to mention disrespectful.

He'd have to bring that up with the good doctor, next time he saw her. And time allotted for payment; he owed her that too.

Might as well finish this up and go into work despite the early hour; he'd find something to do there, even if it was to help open. So he slipped the cuffs, a moment that flashed him back to his fantasy, to their second meeting, and that gave him a surge he felt right down to his bones, stiffened his cock. In a single fluid motion he embraced the woman, flipped her over onto her stomach, and slid into her from behind. She was slick and ready; he slipped in easily, thanks to his previous efforts. Her shocked gasp was gratifying. "I like this very much." She was impaled on him, gasping at the sudden change, her chatter stopped. Her face and jaw could no longer distract him, his hard-on was back, and he could focus on a good finish.


	3. Chapter 3

"Well, this is a good start to my Friday," Nick said, leaning in to speak to her over the noise, raising his glass for a toast. So it was only natural that she raised her glass, took another sip. The movement also allowed her to surreptitiously check the time on her watch. It wasn't even nine o'clock. Still early. Damnit, she was already tired.

But speaking of good starts, she couldn't nurse a single glass of wine all night. So she leaned against the bar, tilting her body towards Nick, softening her posture so that they were closer, so they could continue to talk in low tones under the rumble of the increasing crowd. "It can only get better, and that reminds me. I need another drink."

She started to wave, to catch the bartender's attention. Nick touched her upper arm. "Let me get the next one. You definitely need it." He raised his voice. "Hey, Stan. Can you get a special for this lady? She's gonna need it."

Stan nodded, ignoring a few other people trying to get his attention. "You got it, Nick."

"A special? Sounds special." The bartender whirled together vodka, a splash from a bottle of carbonated liquid, a dash of something red. Muddled with what looked like mint, poured over ice. Chloe let herself sag against the bar a little more, her forward motion putting her a little in front, so she could take the drink directly from the bartender. "And you?"

"Oh, Stan takes care of me." And the next drink was indeed slid across the bartop seconds later. "Bourbon, neat. But the ladies get the low-cal drinks." He winked at her. "I've been on the scene a little longer, you know. I pick up on these things."

She giggled, digging deep into herself to find her inner teenager. "I was wondering how many extra miles I was going to have to run tomorrow."

"Awww. That sounds like work. Lonely work."

"Well, you know. Gotta keep it up. Now that I'm separated." She tried to find some truth in there, some bitterness to play off, but was momentarily surprised to find nothing there. Being a full-time single mother and a homicide detective kept her busy with the _now_. Didn't give her too much time to wonder about the _next_.

"Not divorced, yet. We might have to find you some other, more fun types of cardio exercise." It was said casually, without too much emphasis. Not pushy, but very relaxed. He raised his glass to her, and again she matched his move. Clinked, drank.

And with that, she felt his attention focus on her. It was natural, because there was an unspoken question out there and she hadn't said no. He didn't push her, but she could feel his gaze. He watched her, took note of when she toyed with her glass, when she merely wet her lips or sipped. He smiled at her when she reached for her glass.

She found herself wondering if she would be attracted to him, if she found herself in this bar. Not on assignment, but because she was lonely, or had nothing else to do. Not that she ever had _nothing_ to do, and recently when she wasn't researching a case, she was taking precious moments from her already limited ones to research Lucifer. Devil, indeed. With those looks, and the voice of sin….

"So you like my voice?"

She hauled herself back to Nick. Was she thinking aloud? She didn't usually do that. Nick, another name for the devil, right? Old Nick? But this Nick was a scruffy blond, an older version of a second-string frat boy, someone who used to be muscular but was now running to fat. He wore nerd glasses, those thick-rimmed black frames, but there was so little refraction in the lens she wondered if they were fake. Then she heard the words echoed, and they were coming out of her mouth. Just the last tail end of thought, slipping out easily from her head.

"You caught me." He grinned like a little boy, the first time she'd seen something real in his eyes. "They are fake. Girls tell me they make me look more serious."

He was too old to be saying _girls_. It sounded weird.

"This is LA," he shrugged, and bumped her with his thigh. "The girls worry about their looks and their age, and the men… well, I guess we worry about the same things."

"You are so right," she said, and stared into her drink. It was barely halfway empty. What time was it? She checked her watch. Not even nine-thirty. She'd been sitting here for almost two hours, hadn't even finished two drinks.

"Yeah," he said. "You are kind of slacking. Let's pick it up, find someplace better to be." He raised his glass to her. "The party's just starting."

She raised her glass, putting it against her lips so she wouldn't talk. She'd been talking, she must have been, because he was answering her. She couldn't, shouldn't do that. Her drink wasn't even half way done, and it was only thirty minutes since her first sip.

The liquid was cool against her lips, and she sucked in an ice cube to keep her mouth occupied, especially with him watching her so closely. Some fragment of thought floated to her brain, but she didn't even mouth the words, not around the ice. Rohypnol. Tasteless, odourless. Started to affect the body within twenty minutes of absorption. Continued until it peaked in about eight hours. Lowered inhibition, reaction, caused amnesia. But she had watched the bartender make the drink, Nick couldn't have slipped something in.

"Don't you want to finish up?" Nick purred into her ear. "I can imagine a bunch of other, better places to be."

"We've barely started," she protested. Started. Something was supposed to start. Soon.

"I totally agree." And he raised his glass again, and she found herself raising hers.

Damn it. Rohypnol, lowered inhibitions, highly suggestible…. "You're very suggestible," she said. "Talking about going. Now I've got to go." Go, she repeated to herself. Go, go. _Before it gets worse_.

His eyebrows rose. "Go to the bathroom?" He pointed behind her. "Right back there."

Yes, go. Go to the bathroom. "Thanks," she said, and stumbled upright. Nick braced her for a moment, then pushed her in the direction of the back. She had a moment to think about her purse, her jacket, but then her brain reminded her. Go, go. To the bathroom, to the back. She was talking too much, but she didn't have to worry. There were people watching her. She wasn't alone. Go to the back, Surveillance should pick her up. Damn Dan.

She made it to the bathroom, stuck her fingers down her throat to make herself bring up all the liquid down there. Too late for it all but maybe she could slow down the absorption. It had been forty minutes since her first sip, but that was nothing; the ride was just starting. She needed to be gone before it hit. There was worse to come, but there was worse and then there were at least two perpetrators. _Where the fuck are you, Dan?_ Why wasn't there a tail coming in to find her? Oh, right, no women in the detail. She couldn't hide in here and wait for rescue.

She splashed water on her face, rinsed out her mouth. Made it to the door, opened it.

"Wow." Nick was already there, waiting. "You don't look so good. I think I'd better take you home."

No, she shouldn't.

"Don't worry, I have your stuff." He showed her. Purse and coat were slung over one arm, and with the other he took her around the waist and propelled her to the back. She leaned back, but she wasn't sure if she was resisting him or just tired, because it felt so natural. He leaned down to murmur into her ear, the picture of helpful friend. "We can leave out the alley here, that way we don't have to fight our way through the crowds. You don't look up to that right now."

"Something didn't agree with me." She blinked, and they were out the door into the darkness of the alley. Blinked again, and they were a few steps further. She was starting to lose track of time.

"Don't worry, I know where you can lie down, relax."

"No," she mumbled, and shook her head. That seemed to make it worse, the sensations in her head, but pain had always strengthened her. That's how she had survived for years, focusing on the simplicity and clarity of pain, so she shook her head again. "Don't want to relax. I thought we were going to get this party started."

"Eager, aren't you?" He laughed. "Don't worry, it won't be long now. Then you're going to feel so much better. And so will we. We're all going to have a great party together."

"I want to feel better now." She raised her head, looked at him to see if that slippery note in his voice was reflected in his smile, but she was starting to lose focus and the lights blurred into spangles, wandered away from their shapes. When did lights have shapes? They were almost at the end of the alley, and there was traffic and people up ahead, but traffic meant cabs and there was no Dan, no backup. She didn't want to get into a cab. She didn't want to go anywhere, and once they threaded that line of people and walked out into the lights of traffic, she would—

 _People_. Lights and their shapes. _Lux_. Lucifer.

"I want to feel better now," she breathed, and Nick laughed again, and cuddled her against him.

"I know," he said. "Trust me, I know. I want it too. You can't wait, can you? Neither can we, but I get to have you first. I like you, I really do. You're extra special."

"I'm special," she repeated. It echoed in her head. Special. Something special—

"Yes, you are." He was so pleased, his voice was thick with anticipation. "This is going to be so good. But you and I are going to have to wait just a little bit longer."

"No," she said, and it felt so good she repeated it, held onto it. "No, now." And she stumbled into the line of people, bounced off a bouncer. "Start the party now. Now. Now."

The bouncer swung around to look at her, his face narrowed, and she pushed words at him even as she clutched him, clutched at the name that rode her pulse. "Lucifer," she said loudly. "Now."

Nick chuckled, his fingers tightening around her arm. "She's had too much," he told the bouncer, who loomed over them both. "Sorry, man. No harm done, right? I'm trying to get her home, so we're just getting out of the way."

"No." She held on. "No. I want to start now. Now. I'll … I'll feel better in there."

People were starting to look at them.

Nick shifted, tugging at her. "Baby, don't make a scene. I'm just trying to take you home. So we can start the party there, like I promised."

"Don't want to go. I want … here. Now." There was something she had to remember, to hold onto …. "Lucifer. Now."

"Yeah, lady," the bouncer said. "You and all the other ten thousand women. Get in line like the rest."

Nick pulled her, his grip twisting her elbow as he tried to peel her away from the bouncer. "Sorry, man. She's been here before, had a good time. I think she's trying to relive something."

"That's what we cater to—" the bouncer said, but cut off with a curse as her nails cut into his skin. "Shit you got a grip. Let go of me, bitch!" The bouncer's hand moved onto her wrist, and he broke her hold quickly. She sagged against him, weak. She couldn't hold on – not to him, not to any thoughts; everything was whirling in her head, facts and feelings and fears. Alcohol accelerated the effects of rohypnol. Where the hell was Dan, where was the team? Was she a ghost? She was just starting this trip, she didn't have much time until she forgot everything and went along with anything. Except—

"Inside," she begged. "I need to go inside now."

There was someone else beside her now, a corner of her brain said another tall man was flanking her, she was going down in a circle of bodies, she couldn't protect herself. There were at least two—

"Everything okay here?" The other person was another bouncer. She looked up into his face, and saw him frown down at her as she struggled to her feet. No, it was Nick pulling her up.

"Please," she breathed, and bounced on her toes, wanting to duck under his arm, run inside. "I want to go inside."

The first bouncer shrugged at the second, who didn't look away from her. "She's high, man. She keeps asking after the big man himself, but she's not even his type. Probably got his name from one of the trash mags. She's totally flying. Her guy here is just trying to get her home."

Nick nodded, so understanding. "It's Friday, we have a few things to celebrate. I didn't realize the drinks would hit her so hard. Can you guys help me out here, call me a cab so I can get her home?"

"Wait a minute," the other bouncer said, still frowning down at her. "You look familiar. Weren't you here before? The Player's Club after-party?"

"Yes!" She nodded, relief spilling from her. "Yes, yes, that was me. I was here. Party. Players. Playing." She bounced again, ready to fly. She was so close.

The second bouncer looked at the first, and the light of the sign behind him fractured into a thousand shards, giving him a halo. "Dude, red dress. Remember?"

The first shook his head. "No, man. I was looking at the dress. And even if she was here doesn't mean she's invited back."

Nick interrupted. "Like I said, she had a great time. But she needs to go home now. I'll get her home safe."

"Please," she tried to reach out to the second guy, to the guy who was still staring at her face, and she blinked to keep him in focus. "Get me inside."

"Just a sec," the second bouncer told them. "Let me check something real quick." He turned his head and cupped his hand, murmured into his mike.

"Can you call me a cab?" Nick repeated. "She's had way too much to drink. I don't know how long she's gonna hold it in."

"Well, I can't let you do that here, in front of the guests." The second bouncer nodded at her, and now his hands were tugging at her shoulders, pulling her away from Nick, pulling her away from the first bouncer. "Let's get you inside quick."

"Hey," Nick said, holding on to her wrist, his grip painful as he dug in his heels. "What? I'm trying to save you the trouble, man."

"Don't worry. Let's get her to a toilet, or at least a trashcan. We can call you a cab from inside." The second bouncer tucked her underneath his own broad shoulder. She was moved inexorably towards the entrance, and the line parted around her, sullen faces melting out of focus. She could feel people staring at her, but she stumbled towards the ink-blot entrance of the club, the only spot of darkness that felt warm and velvety. Just like him.

Nick still wouldn't let her go, and she tasted his frustration in the way his fingers manacled her wrist. She ignored the pain, pain usually made her stronger, and she didn't have much time before … before something. She tried to peer at her watch. Just ten o'clock. Was it too early for him? On a Friday night?

A shadow detached itself from just inside the door. "Maze," she breathed, and swayed in relief. Or maybe she was just losing her balance. Luckily there were two men hanging on to her. Maybe she was dangerous. She giggled at the thought. Yeah, she totally was.

Maze didn't say anything, just stepped close to her – oh gosh, was Maze going to kiss her? – to stare into her eyes. Chloe froze, unsure of what was being asked.

Maze smiled, revealing neat white teeth, a pale slash in the darkness. Past her, to Nick and the waiting bouncers. "Take her to the red room. You two can wait there."

Nick was pulling out his mobile phone. "I'm calling a cab right now."

"Take your time," Maze said. "I'll send you something while you wait." And she disappeared into the swirling black hole of noise and movement that was the club.

"We don't need more drinks!" Nick called, but no one paid attention to him. The bouncers flanked them, one before and one after, to herd them through the edges of the crowd. Was he here? Could he find her, floating as she was, bouncing between the bouncers? Chloe couldn't focus anymore, the effort it took to keep things straight in her eyes and nose and head too much, and she was inside, she was safe, she was safe. All those spangled lights, those blurry halos, dribbled into blinking, strobing streams became silver chains that picked her up and carried her away.


	4. Chapter 4

"The red room," Maze whispered into his ear. "Right now."

"Now, Maze," he purred, but he let his annoyance steel his tone. "You know how I feel about being told what to do." He smiled at the three blondes in front of him - all women, all blonde, yes, he was in a rut - in brief apology before he shifted his gaze to his upstart little demon.

Holy fire from his father couldn't have struck him senseless any stronger than Maze's look, and he bolted upright, all thoughts of the women forgotten. He remembered that look. This wasn't Maze, bartender dealing with shorted deliveries or unruly patrons pouting because they were B-list and couldn't get in. This was Mazikeen, leading the armies of Hell.

She smiled at him, and it was all teeth. "You should hurry."

The bouncer at the door of the private room couldn't move out of his way fast enough, and Lucifer let the door slam inward in his rush. The bouncer inside practically levitated in surprise, whirling around like a scalded human.

Lucifer spared no thought for him, because inside was a scene out of … well, his nightmares, if he had them. Time slowed almost to a crawl as he took in the shocked tableau, the players frozen at his sudden entrance. Almost as though Amenadiel was around, but there was no sign of that asshole.

The only avenging angel here was his detective, boneless and languorous in a way he'd never seen her. Hanging onto the arm of a fellow he'd never seen and certainly never met. No, she wasn't hanging onto him. Lucifer's eyes were drawn to the man's hands, wrapped around her small wrists. Unless he had lost his touch, that was the kind of grip that would leave bruises.

"Lucifer!" She smiled happily, in a way that she had never, ever smiled at him before. Not even in his fantasies. She started to walk towards him, but stumbled, and the stranger's fingers tightened, his knuckles turning white. She jerked back, confused, and her expression tore at his temper.

"Sir—" the bouncer, already forgotten, started to say something to him.

"Leave us," Lucifer snapped, lashing the words behind him as he stepped forward to meet her, because if she couldn't come to him, he would go to her. He barely tracked the closing of the door behind him; his attention was completely on Chloe. Chloe as he'd never seen her. She was straining towards him, as though she was drawn to him, as though he had called her name, whispered into the well of her desires and summoned her.

This is how she should have reacted, the first time he asked her what she wanted. This was how she should have looked. But she was Chloe. Something unusual, something different. Always protected from his effect by whatever cool steel she carried within her.

She didn't have it now. He touched her cheek, tilted her face up to look his fill, test the boundaries of this new Chloe. She was passive and pliant under his touch. _This was wrong._ Her skin was flushed and hot, her eyes dilated. Her mouth parted and her breath came fast, and he didn't have to be a sinner to immediately wonder if this is what she would look like underneath him.

"Lucifer," her voice was eager and soft. "You're here."

"Of course I am, darling. Did you doubt me?" Was she undercover? Would she get angry at him if he blew it again by calling her by her rank, or even her name? She was here, and so happy to see him. Obviously something was very, very wrong.

"They wouldn't believe me when I told them."

"Told them what?"

"That I needed … you." She giggled. "I was afraid, you know."

"Who, darling?" He stared into her eyes, took a deep breath. He smelled her, and alcohol, and fear. He struggled to keep his tone light as he tucked a strand of hair back behind her ear. "Tell me who so I can punish them. They'll never do that again, I promise you."

"Hey, dude." The shock of his entrance had faded, and now another voice was added to the mix, reminding Lucifer that they still weren't alone. "Are you her ex?"

"Certainly not." Lucifer shifted his attention to the stranger who _still touched her_. His gaze rested pointedly on their linked hands, on the man's grasp, before slowly rising to his face. "Do I look like a man any woman – nay, any _one_ – would willingly leave?"

The man lifted his chin and just as pointedly refused to let go. "If you're not her ex, you can stay out of this."

"No." He smiled. "It's past time for you to run along, little monster."

"No," the man repeated. "I don't know who the hell you think you are, but I've called a cab."

"You really don't want to know who I am," Lucifer breathed. She was swaying, some grotesque parody of sensual and horrible. He watched her eyelids flutter down against her cheek. "And you're hurting her."

"You're just the manager, or the owner," the stranger scoffed, and his grip tightened. Chloe let out a little gasp. Her eyes widened and her arm jerked, but it was as though one part of her body was disconnected from another; she was slow, subdued.

"Actually, I'm now your worst nightmare." He smiled through the haze of his anger, his hand drifting to her neck, his fingers hovering over her pulse. It thrummed against his touch, the tempo the desperate beating of wings. His Chloe would never stand so meekly, her spine curved, her voice stolen. Neither his tone nor his expression changed when she dipped her head, nuzzled his palm with her cheek, but something inside him, some restraint, broke free. "I won't ask again. _Let her go_."

"She's coming home with me," the dead man said, and jerked her towards him, pulling her away from Lucifer's touch.

She swayed, and had to lean on the stranger for support, and the roaring of Hell drowned out anything she might have said, anything Lucifer would have heard. " _You_ don't get to make that choice for her," he gritted out, on the brink of unleashing his demons, ripping what little humanity was left from this vile creature and hurting him, punishing him, _destroying_ him—and he let go—

The little monster screamed at his true face, a high, keening sound, desperation and fear. _There are bigger monsters around, little creature, and you have only begun to understand your pain_. The sound fed Lucifer's hunger, but his appetite was vast, there was so much space to fill.

The vile little creature actually pulled Chloe in front of him, like a shield, and she stumbled again, swayed. Lucifer growled and reached for her, to put her aside—

"No," she whispered, and she tugged again at the hands around her wrist, straining like a falcon at her jesses. Towards him, her gaze holding him like a drowned soul. "No, Lucifer."

He couldn't stand it anymore, that look of pain and fear in her eyes, so he broke the little monster's arms, broke his hold so she wouldn't be trapped anymore. Bones snapped, but the delicious sound was lost underneath the screaming. She stumbled again, would have fallen, but Lucifer was there, offering his arm for support and catching her before she fell. As he turned his body to put himself between her and the real danger, he kicked out at the little monster, stomping on his throat, kicking in his teeth. The screaming choked off, and there was only gurgling, the sound as soothing to him as running water.

"Chloe." He had to work to keep his voice low, even. "You don't have to worry anymore. I won't let him hurt you."

"Don't want … to hurt you either."

It was so unexpected, he laughed.

"Don't. Don't do…." She clutched at him and frowned at the man curled at their feet. "He's not – Dan is … waiting. Sur … Surv … Watching." She fumbled and slurred through her words, and he waited, letting each word separate him further from the raging fires inside.

"I'm going to punish him for this, Chloe. I have to."

"No. That's … that's us. Our job."

"No. It's mine."

"You said … took a vacay. Now us. Ours."

He stared at her: puzzled at this woman, this mere human, who stepped in between him and his righteous victim, who reminded him…. Yes, he had walked away from that. And for a moment, he wanted to be back there to receive this little monster. Teach him who was the master of all the monsters.

"You … want me to leave him for the police." Even saying it aloud hurt, because he hungered for justice, for punishment. For hurting the creature that dared touch her. "You want me … to leave him for Detective Douche." Who most certainly had not been watching. Because if he had been, and he let her leave with this little monster – well, there was no excuse. No excuse that could save him.

She nodded, and the movement almost overbalanced her. "S'okay now, Lucifer. 'm here. It's gonna … be okay."

"Yes, my darling. You are. _You're_ safe. I promise." When he looked at her, he didn't know what face she saw, but she looked at him as though he weren't a creature of pain and flame. She looked at him and through him, even despite the haze of drugs.

"Promise me … s'okay." She was slurring badly now, and he leaned down to her, feeling her breath puff across his ear. "Don't – get hurt."

"Trust me, he can't hurt me." Especially not now, after having had the first taste of true pain. It always took them by surprise, those who were used to giving pain suddenly receiving it. The little monster was still curled up at his feet, and in a few minutes, when it caught its breath and could really scream again, he would teach the creature how to properly grovel.

"Lucifer. Not … safe. Don't … do anything. Promise me."

"Chloe."

"Please," she begged. "Don't…"

And it was just them, slow-mo time that they made together, just like when she'd touched his back. When she saw his scars, really saw him, and for that moment, he was, felt, truly naked before her as he'd never felt since his father had summoned him. Here it was again, that moment, only the two of them, her lips just underneath his, her eyes dilated, her body warm and flush and soft. A moment of pure need.

The look he wanted in his fantasies, but perverted by the here and now, where he had this from her because of drugs and fear and wrong circumstance. He felt the roaring of his anger from a distance, but kept his voice light and cool, and stroked her cheek to remember where she ended and he began.

"All right, Detective. Since you asked so nicely."

She sighed, sagged against him; he was the only thing holding her upright. For a moment, she was the only thing that was real and solid, and he held her and wished he still had wings so he could cover her completely, protect her from anything and anyone.

He became aware of a persistent knocking. At first he thought it was her pulse, or perhaps his, but the sound continued and sharpened as the red roaring haze retreated and he remembered where he was. Who was crying quietly on the floor, breath whistling between what sounded like broken teeth.

"Chloe."

"Hmm?"

"Chloe, there's someone at the door." He raised his voice. "Yes?"

"Sir? I don't want to bother you, but…." His people were well-trained, thanks to Maze. "I thought I heard … something. Is everything okay in there? Do you need assistance?"

The flesh bag on the floor moaned and moved, and he was torn, he wanted to burn and destroy, damn these stupid human rules and convention. Here was a chance for pure justice: there was no one who deserved it more, right now—

"I – I don't feel good." She burped, and the smell of alcohol and bile wafted over him, disgusting and distracting. Talk about the bowels of Hell indeed. "Lucifer, I feel …. Oh god."

And with that, his choice was clear. "Call Him all you want, he won't do a damn thing. Luckily for you, however, I'm right here." He thought for a moment, running through his lexicon of potential side effects of alcohol and drugs. Experiences of which he was very well aware, having reacquainted himself with all the new vices just after he started his vacation. "But you probably won't want to do this here." There was no convenient bathroom. The club was too public; people had seen her come in, would point this way if anyone came looking. And where was Detective Douche, anyway? Late to the party as always.

There were things to arrange, and he had minions to whom to delegate. Lucifer called in his bouncer, gave him specific instructions on where to dump the trash. And to whom to address his little care package.

While he issued instructions, Chloe sagged in the circle of his arms, humming to herself, occasionally distracted by something only she could see. She giggled and buried her face in his shoulder, murmuring a string of nonsense. The moisture from her breath dampened his shirt, lighting her heat on his skin. He held her firmly tucked into his side, afraid she would melt through his arms when her legs went. Her moments of lucidity were shortening, the times when she would stare off into space longer and longer.

It surely only took moments to make arrangements for disposal and distractions; it felt like eternity. "Come along, then," he murmured into the crown of her head, his hands around her waist. "Keep it in there a little longer."

Maze was there to see them through the back door, where his car waited, the engine running.

"Thank you, Mazikeen." He paused, worked past the sudden knot in his throat as he imagined what might have happened. What would have happened, if Maze hadn't intervened. "Make sure this doesn't happen again."

"I didn't do it for her."

"I know."

"You could call the man, the other detective, to pick her up. He would be here in moments."

"He already had his chance."

"You should take her to a hospital."

"Been there, done that, got the proverbial hospital shirt." Take her to see them wheel her away, to see her lying back, matched against pale sheets, hooked up to machines? "Not a habit I wish to continue."

"It's going to be a long night, and a longer day." When he didn't respond, she shook her head, and her voice cut low and angry through the darkness. "You're going to ruin your upholstery."

He sighed. "I know."

He poured her into the car, got the belt on – she would care about such things, and he wanted her safe even though for once there was no chance of him speeding – and positioned her so she was slumped against the passenger door. Her head lolled bonelessly, and he could only hope that if, when she threw up, most of it would go over the side of the car. The outside.

His luck, such as it was, held as he got her to his place. He wrestled her in, hoping that there weren't stray paparazzo around to take photos. He usually enjoyed controversy, but he didn't want the bad press of having to explain dragging unconscious women into his house, especially unconscious homicide detectives. They were supposed to come willingly. Happily. Clad in very large smiles and very little clothing, by preference.

He carried her into the living room and draped her over the couch. She lay quietly, her breathing even, her eyes open. It was unnerving, this lack of response. He couldn't understand why humans did this to others; he couldn't imagine why someone wouldn't want the responses, the clutches and gasps and twitches. Didn't matter if it was sex or torture, those were the signs you were doing it _right_.

Not even midnight, not yet the witching hour. She was just now falling into the full grip of the drug; there were hours to go. He left her momentarily to go back outside to his car and fetch her purse and coat, which the little monster had thoughtfully brought with him to the club.

Lucifer stared at her things. The thoughtful, deliberate little monster, who planned ahead to leave no trace. He wondered how Chloe fell victim, and put that aside for later. When she was better, she would tell him, and if the human law didn't mete out enough pain, he was all too willing to find the little monster again. After all, the creature owed the devil his due.

Lucifer didn't know how long he stood outside wrapped in the cool darkness; when he came back to himself, her purse was buzzing in his hand as though there was an angry little ifrit trapped within. He shook off his stupor, like shedding water, and returned inside. "Your things are here, darling," he called out to her. "I'll just put them on the coffee table." The purse buzzed again, so he flipped up the catch, pulled out the mobile phone and glanced at the screen. Even locked, the caller ID flashed up, and he snorted. "Oh, so _now_ he worries about you."

Putting the phone back into her purse, he tossed it on the table. "You will scold me, I'm sure, but I think we can let him sweat a little bit." It felt good to punish _someone_ , damn it. "You already know you're a better person than I."

He hated the way she laid there, eyes staring open. He knew that she wouldn't remember anything, but still he spoke to her as he poured a drink for himself, a stream of nonsense conversation. The phone buzzed constantly, vibrating itself across the table until it fell onto the floor. The rug muffled the noise.

"He's an insistent bugger, I'll give him that. I guess now I know why you said yes."

He didn't want to leave her alone in the room, and he hated to hover, so he finally gave in and sat next to her, leaned over to touch her face. "You're burning," he whispered, and his hands moved of their own volition to smooth her hair back, off her cheeks. "Usually I'm the one making people burn. But you— you have to keep thwarting me, don't you."

She turned her face slightly, moved into his hand, and he stroked her skin, letting his touch do what his words couldn't. She murmured, a wordless hum of need that rose slightly at the end.

"What is it?" he said softly, pitching his voice to slide in between the drugs and alcohol. "What do you want, Chloe?" She murmured again, and he leaned closer, and closer, finally gathering her into his lap, her lips feathering his ear. "Tell me, darling. It's just you and me here, it's okay. Tell me what you want."

"'m….. I'm so …. Tired," she breathed.

He leaned back to look at her. To _really_ look at her. In the grip of the drugs, her face was unguarded, naked to his gaze, and he saw something that stole his breath: She was tired to the bone. Tired of holding back, or maybe holding in. Stripped of her outer shell, the guarded distance of her eyes and the cutting candor of her voice, all he could see was exhaustion. Pure, complete exhaustion.

"Then sleep, Chloe. Just go to sleep. Let go. I'll be here when you wake up." He closed her eyes, and kept talking to her, soothing her with voice and touch, until he felt her body go completely limp.


	5. Chapter 5

She fought her way out of a headache and the worst case of morning breath, and she slitted her eyes against the pain that was daylight. _Oh shit I have so overslept_ —

But the angle of daylight was wrong, and she was still wearing her clothes, and whatever was underneath her head, it wasn't her pillow. Too hard, and warm—

She vaguely remembered a bar. She groaned. The headache was landing reinforcements in her brain and she was so damn thirsty and _where the hell am I_?

"Good morning, Detective. I trust you slept well, given your snoring."

"I don't snore." _That_ voice she remembered.

"Then someone has been lying to you. As you know, I don't."

"I told you," she mumbled through the pounding, "you can't just come into my house like this."

"My dear, as much as I love your lectures, I'm afraid that one is going to be self-administered."

Her eyes finally cracked open. She could not only hear him talking, she could _feel_ him. When her body woke up, it presented her with a full list of indignities. Her bra dug into her side and left shoulder, her dress twisted in a knot and dug into her left hip. Her eyes were crusted and her face felt stiff. Her mouth tasted like something had died inside. What the hell was going on? "Where the hell am I?"

"Not hell," he said cheerfully. "Trust me, there is absolutely no chance of confusing it with anywhere else, although I suspect that with your headache, you might think I'm splitting hairs. I assure you, I generally split more than that. Entire heads, in fact."

She tried to lift her head, feeling her neck crack. "It's too early for this, Lucifer. Whatever this is." She coughed, inhaling sour-tinged air.

"On the contrary. It's quite late." He helped her sit up, and only as she came upright did she realize she'd been lying with her head on his lap, her hands fisted in his shirt.

His shirt was damp with – she touched her face. Crusty with – "Oh god, don't tell me I—"

"God won't tell you, but yes, you did. Can your cop's salary afford the cleaning bill for my clothes and couch?" He stood up completely, stretched and winced as she watched in growing dismay. "Ouch. If I'm still limping tomorrow, I should tell people that you shot me again. It would serve you right."

He was covered in— She flushed, and tried to focus on her surroundings. His place. Daylight. She was dressed, as was he. Except both of them were covered in…. "Lucifer, I—"

"Have questions," he said briskly. "Yes, Detective, obviously. But let's both regain our veneers of civility, shall we? You desperately need a bath, and – well, I do too." He held out a hand to her, and she took it after a moment of consideration. It was a short moment, when she realized she probably couldn't stand without help. He smiled, but didn't say anything, and she slid her eyes away from his wildly tousled hair, his wrinkled and stained shirt. "Now, now," he chided her, his voice completely even and firm, "perfectly normal bodily functions, at least in these circumstances. Having now made that wonderfully vague comment, let me walk you to your door, my dear lady."

By the time they made it to the door of the bathroom, her legs tingling with pins and needles and _oh my god pain_ , she was glad for his supportive elbow. They made quite the picture, not to mention the smell-o-vision, but she breathed through her mouth while gritting her teeth. "What time is it?"

"Time to clean up. Now go in, and don't worry about hogging all the hot water. My tank is, naturally, huge." He winked at her, stiffening her spine. "Towels in the closet, and I'll find something for you to wear and leave it on the counter. If you're a very lucky girl, it might not give you cooties."

"I don't want you coming in while I shower."

"Oh, don't be missish. I've seen everything, remember? More than once, I'm happy to admit, although I'd have to see the latest version again to give you a precise answer on which version I like better."

"Lucifer!"

"In you go." And he was gone, although she felt his smirk like it was a brand on the back of her neck.

She took a quick look in the mirror as she stumbled by on the way to the shower, and almost lost her feet underneath her again. Surely that – wasn't her? That person with the bloodshot eyes, the crusted hair and clothes, the pale, wrinkled skin? She peeled off her dress, cracking it from her skin, and took inventory of her body both mentally and physically as she stepped into the shower and turned on the water. Little clue there…

She nearly sobbed at the first gush of hot water, and by the time she washed her hair, scrubbed her body with his loofah, and just spent at least ten minutes enjoying the luxury of a big heating tank, she felt something approaching human. She drank water directly from the shower, first rinsing her mouth and then gulping, soothing her parched thirst. Her headache was awesome, her teeth had a film – did she dare use his toothbrush? No, but she could and did swirl toothpaste in her mouth. She stepped out to find a long flowy dress folded neatly on the counter – another left-behind, apparently. Was there a closet full of these, somewhere in this cavernous place? She shook her head as she found the towels, but after she was dry, she wasn't too proud to put on the offering. It smelled clean, which was more than she'd been half an hour ago.

She stared at herself in the fogged mirror. Bedraggled but clean, and her pallor was less noticeable, the bags under her eyes not quite the suitcases she'd dragged in here.

She hung up the towel, took a deep breath, and opened the door to the most wonderful smell on earth.

"Chicken soup," he said when she came in, and she stopped at the doorway, blinking at the bright light that speared through her eyeballs. She vaguely saw him gesture with his hands; suddenly the windows darkened and she sighed in relief. "Everything's too bright."

"Give it a moment." He pulled out a seat for her at the bar, whisked a steaming mug down and handed her a spoon before sitting beside her, cupping his own mug. He had showered and his damp hair was slicked back, his shirt and black ironed jeans strangely casual.

"Thanks." Her stomach growled, loud in the quiet room, so she took a few bites before she spoke again. "S'good. Did you make this?"

"Of course not. I'm good, but not that fast. I had it delivered while we cleaned up. How are you feeling?"

Every bite made her headache recede that much more. "That shower was heavenly."

His eyes twinkled at her. "Certainly the closest I've felt in a long time."

She finished her mug, and he wordlessly stood up and poured her more. She watched his hands move, graceful and sure. Unexpectedly domestic, and she had a moment where everything felt peaceful, safe. When he set the mug back in front of her, she raised her eyebrows. "Thank you. So, when does the shoe drop?"

"I've never understood that saying. It really makes no sense to me."

"Lucifer." She struggled to keep her tone even. "I need to know how bad it is."

"What do you remember?"

He was usually so forthright – damnably so – that she gave him a look, wondering why he wouldn't just come out with it. But since this was so unlike him, there was probably a reason. So she humored him, and sat back, toying with her mug. The physical movement helped; she remembered… "I remember … going to a bar." She frowned. "It felt like I was … going on a date? With Dan, but that doesn't make sense. What is it?"

"Hmmm?"

"When I said his name, you looked—" _Angry_. "Weird."

"He's not one of my favourite people at the moment."

"You mean he was before?" Chloe took a deep breath. "Lucifer, please stop stalling and just tell me."

"You remember going to a bar with Dan. Do you remember the name of it? What happened after you got there?"

This was the part that was cloudy. Wait, no. She remembered now. Dan talked to her about it over breakfast, he talked about—"Oh my god," she breathed, rattling the cup onto the tabletop before she dropped it. "The case. He asked for help for a case, to investigate a serial rapist, there was a suspect and the Vice team needed someone to go in—" She stopped, swallowed. Reached deep inside herself, walked a mental list, checking a catalogue of hurts all the way down and through. She was stiff, but not sore. Her wrists were bruised, but nothing else was hurt or tender. She could walk without wincing and going to the bathroom felt normal. She had a hell of a headache, the remnants of a raging thirst, and could probably eat a horse. "But I'm not – I'm okay."

"Yes," he said softly, and in his expression she saw he had watched her, waited for her to finish her mental checklist. "Yes, you are."

There was no guile in his eyes. He didn't lie, and this time, he wasn't holding anything back. She exhaled loudly. "Why didn't you just tell me, you bastard?"

"Because I thought … I was concerned you wouldn't believe me. If I simply told you that you hadn't been … hurt." At her continued silence, he waved at their surroundings. "I mean, how else does it look?"

"What in the world do you – never mind, I don't want to know." She sighed, started again. "Lucifer, I may have woken up in your home, lying on your couch and practically in your lap, but I was still in my own clothes. You were in your club clothes." As she spoke she felt the truth in her words, her own belief in not only herself, but him. "Heck, I – we – were covered in my own … uh, puke. And worse." She felt the flush on her cheeks, breathed carefully to let it fade. Might as well get used to it; he was probably going to bring it up at the worst possible time in the future. "Wait a minute, why were you even on the couch with me?"

"You were sleeping so deeply. I didn't want to wake you up."

She'd been drugged. She wouldn't have woken to elephants stampeding through the living room. The clean, pristine showcase of a living room. "Why did you even bring me here? You could have dropped me at the hospital, let them take care of me."

"I know," he said, and his tone was clipped. "I've done that before."

And there it was again. The moment where they looked at each other in perfect understanding, she felt like it was just the two of them in a bubble.

"Well," she cleared her throat. "I'm glad I didn't wake up there again. I don't want to make it a habit, it's too expensive for such bad food." Her eyes widened. "Uh, speaking of. How much, exactly, does that couch cost?"

"Just a tad bit more than the shirt I was wearing."

She was momentarily speechless.

"I'll propose several alternatives to payment, if you like."

She spluttered. "You—"

"Can go to hell?"

"You suck."

"Only upon request."

A moment of silence fell, and after a moment when her face cooled again, she nodded. "So. Did we catch him?"

"You and I? Yes, we did, although I delegated the actual delivery job to my employees."

"You and – what? Dan was supposed to be on Surveillance." Wait… He would never let her get released to Lucifer's care, not under the influence. She cocked her head at Lucifer, starting to make connections. Her mouth was dry. "Wait. What happened in the bar? Didn't – didn't Surveillance pick him up? That guy, what's his name? Where was my backup?"

"That, my dear, is an excellent question. I hope you'll let me know their answer." He set a glass of cold water in front of her, toasted her with his own. "As I told you, Detective, we make an excellent team."

Something flashed through her mind, a fragment of something—

"Despite the rousing success of the entrapment scheme," Lucifer continued, watching her, "he managed to drug you. I was hoping that you might be able to tell me how that happened? If there's anything you remember?"

She closed her eyes, thought back. "I don't remember … lots." There was a complete chunk of memory missing, she could feel it, but for the moment put it aside with the expectation that whatever she was missing, it wasn't going to shatter her if or when she ever remembered, and it wouldn't matter if she didn't. But there was something there. Something about cups and clinking and … something Lucifer had done just now, a flash of muscle memory. Okay, what was the last thing she remembered? There was the bar, and the guy – Nick was his name – and she'd only had one drink – no, two drinks, and she had watched them being poured like a hawk, and he kept raising his glass in a toast, that was it, that was _it_ , how he pushed the women to drink … the women and his special drink—

She opened her eyes. "The bartender." His name – she'd heard his name, but it eluded her, at least for the moment. "The bartender's in on it." She shuddered, suddenly realizing how she could have woken up, where she might have been, what she might be feeling now. "They probably … share." Her gorge rose.

Lucifer's eyes flashed, and she blinked. For a moment, she could have sworn they were red. But she was seeing things, because even though he had scary stupid strength, he still bled like a stuck pig when he was shot.

"Hey."

"Hmmm?"

"You still haven't explained how you got involved in this."

"Ah, that part. You came to me, Detective. You showed up at my proverbial doorstep, under the influence and towing a criminal, and you asked to see me." He paused, leaned back in his chair. "I had hours to think about it, while you were indisposed and dribbling on my nice clothes. Since I was obviously trapped and unable to move, I rang around and spoke to several of my employees, and reached out to several other establishment managers in the area. The story was amazingly consistent despite the various witness perspectives: you came stumbling out of the alley, pushed your way into the line, and got the attention of the bouncers. Demanded to be let in, apparently, and made free with my name until someone paid attention, and brought you inside."

She pushed at her mind, but the memories wouldn't come back. But it sounded … right. "I thought that was pretty much a nightly occurrence. Women demanding to be let in to see you."

"True. But only one woman for whom I closed my bar and hosted an open bar – a free bar – for a player's club. You were quite memorable, and not just to the poor miscreants who attended that night."

"How did I get into the alley?"

"My sources say you were seen drinking with our suspect at a bar several doors down. I suspect after he drugged you, he took you out the back door into the alley. The same alley that ends at the front of my club. You, my dear, did the rest." He smiled, and it was a pure, happy expression. "Oh, did I forget to mention that part of the story? You did all this despite being tethered to a resisting, foolish rapist."

"Oh my …. I didn't know. Oh, Lucifer, I'm so – I'm so sorry I brought trouble to your club. I shouldn't have involved you. Or any civilians." She could see it now, someone trying to smuggle an inebriated woman out the back door, through the alley, to the street and a cab and … _gone_. She must have known. Something in her, training or experience, must have recognized, decided, acted. Safety in numbers. Or safety in someplace she knew? _I must have been running on instinct. And I ran to Lucifer_. She licked her too-dry lips. "That's a fuck-up of massive proportions. On everyone's end. I don't know where, or why, my backup failed to pick me up."

"Yes," he drawled, "I'm curious about that oversight as well." For a moment his hands tightened around his glass. "But I'm just grateful you kept your presence of mind, and found me."

"Yeah." She stared at her own hands, her own glass. Couldn't think about the what-if. Could barely understand the what-did-happen, or why, but _oh thank god_ that it had.

"Detective."

She drew back out of those dark thoughts, met his gaze. "Yes?"

"Any time," he said softly. "I do mean it."

"Thank you, Lucifer." She shifted, cleared her throat, and looked at the clock. "Hey. Just after seven. I should start heading out; Trixie should be waking up soon. Can you call me an Uber?"

"Going to sleep, you mean." He stood up. "I'll drive you."

"Wh-what did you say?"

"That's seven in the evening. Saturday evening. You've been asleep all day."

"Oh my god." She bolted upright. "No wonder the light's so strong. My phone, my god, my phone, I need my phone! They'll be frantic, oh my god Trixie—"

"Detective." His calm voice cut through her sudden panic, made her pulse and body still. "Here. Your coat and purse. We'll leave your other clothes, of course. Perhaps I'll have them cleaned and stored for the next visitor." He smiled as he escorted her through the hall. "I had my people call your Detective Douche and let him know you were in the best of care, that he would need to take care of the small human until your safe return."

"I'm surprised he didn't have a police detail here."

"I let him know you were safe, Detective. I didn't tell him where you were." He slipped on a pair of sunglasses, and offered her a second set. She accepted them gratefully, shielding her eyes before she stepped outside. He locked the door behind her, and then opened her car door and waited until they were both settled before continuing. "I did tell him you were incapacitated, so I suspect he's been searching the local emergency rooms. After he stopped threatening my employees."

"Lucifer, you can't just tell the police that they have an officer down and not expect them to freak out!"

"If they want to know where she is, perhaps they shouldn't lose her so carelessly."

"I'm sure it wasn't on purpose!" She checked her phone while he talked; it was dead, no juice. "Dan called?"

"Incessantly."

She dropped the phone back into her purse and sighed, laid her head back against the luxurious leather seat. The sun felt warm against her skin, the wind slipped cool air into her lungs, and she was baptized by the beauty, the simplicity, the safety of it all. Yes, safety. Sitting beside him in an open convertible, driving at least twenty miles over the speed limit, a borrowed dress and a dead phone. She felt safe and protected, and even rested. Soon there would be paperwork to fill out, blood tests to run, security camera footage to review and excuses to make. But for right now it was enough that there some women in Los Angeles were now safe because of the man beside her, and she was one of them.

"You still owe me a couch," he said.

"You're evil," she replied, and the wind grabbed her words and whipped them away.

"No," he grinned. "I'm just misunderstood."


End file.
